


McGenji Week Drabbles

by Spinning_Mouse



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, McGenji Week, i guess, suggested sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_Mouse/pseuds/Spinning_Mouse
Summary: So it's McGenji week (starting Oct. 23) with a prompt for every day of the week. Since drawing is basically like witchcraft to me, I've decided to attempt some drabbles for it. None of these are meant to take place in a larger story (as I write them at least), they're just individual little drabbles.





	1. Touch

“Ugh, can you take that somewhere else?”

McCree lifted his head in surprise. 

“You talkin’ to me?”

She rolled her eyes without turning her head away from the screen. Lucio tried to take advantage of her distraction in whatever game they were playing (A racing game, it looked like. Something kart?) but failed when Hana’s attention snapped back to the TV. Lucio groaned in frustration while Hana continued talking, apparently not perturbed by any of it.

“Who else? You two both have rooms, you know.”

Understanding dawned on McCree. He nudged Genji who sat nestled into his side, visor removed to facilitate the occasional kiss while they worked (or in McCree’s case, tried to work) on their personal data pads. 

Genji chuckled, his voice missing most of its robotic qualities without his visor. 

“My apologies, Song-san. I would hate to cause you discomfort.”

The honorific, unusually formal for those two, was McCree’s first sign Genji had a plan. The shit eating grin that lit up his face in the most terrifying way was the second.

“ ‘Course, I’d never want to upset anybody.” McCree agreed, hesitantly playing along. Genji shifted his body, angling more towards McCree. He gave McCree a predatory look that had no place in polite company. McCree couldn’t stop the slight blush that colored his cheeks. Suddenly he knew exactly what Genji wanted to do.

_Angela is gonna kill us when she finds out._

Hana eyed them with distrust. Usually she was the one smiling with Genji at whatever poor soul they’d locked on that week. 

Genji pushed McCree into the cushions. He hit them with an umpf and found himself unable to do anything but respond in kind as Genji came down for a kiss that _definitely_ didn’t belong in polite company. 

Hana made gagging sounds, face twisting in disgust as she bolted from the rec room, game forgotten. Lucio was quick to follow, making sure to yell his own chastisement (“Oh come on guys!”) before running out. 

McCree heard this all from a distance, like a TV show playing in the background. He was far more occupied with the man laid out on top of him. They broke apart for air and McCree became aware of his own heavy breathing. He swallowed hard.

“So, uh, which of our rooms is the closest?”

Genji glanced up in the direction of the door. McCree was too caged in to see it himself, but he watched Genji’s eyes go from thoughtful to mischevious.

“Athena,” He called out, locking eyes with McCree. “Do I have the authority to temporarily cut video and audio feed from this room?”

The AI hummed to life. “For what purpose, Agent Genji?”

Genji laughed, low and breathy, and McCree’s own breath hitched.

“I do not think Winston will want to watch this.”

Genji leaned back down, not waiting for a response, and Athena never gave one.


	2. Alternate Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji and Jesse play a game

“OK, so you need to make your username here-”

“Genji.” Jesse kept his voice steady despite the rising annoyance. “I’ve never played multiplayer before, but I’ve been on the internet.”

Genji raised his hands in concession. “Alright, alright, I see your point, I’ll let you do your thing.”

Jesse rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the computer. The cursor blinked over the empty box, waiting for his input. He chewed his lip trying to think of a name.

“Any day now.”

“Would you be quiet?”

Genji snorted but fell silent. Jesse tapped the desk a few times, still unsure. Finally he typed something in and pressed enter.

“ _MysteryMan37?_ ” Genji laughed. “Seriously?”

“Says _GreenDragon35_.” He retorted. 

“Whatever you say.” Genji said, still chuckling. He plopped into a chair next to Jesse and opened his own laptop. “The game is already loaded so you’re good to go.”

They both booted up the game. The word “Overwatch” was written in large blocky white letters across the screen while heroic music played in the background. Genji directed him through the menu screen, pulling up a menu of all the characters. Jesse was baffled to see twenty two lined up in front of him.

“Why are there so many? Who are you supposed to play?” 

“This is nothing, they’re already planning to add another one. Well, if they ever finish that damn ARG. You can play whoever you want though.” Genji leaned into Jesse’s space. Jesse fought urges to lean further in and further away at the same time. 

Genji pointed at one of the characters. “That one is my main.”

“Main?”

“My favorite.”

Jesse snorted when he saw the name.

“ _The Ninja?_ ”

“The _Cyborg_ Ninja. He’s badass.”

Jesse just shook his head and kept scrolling. According to Genji each character had special abilities, and none was quite like any of the other. It was all a little overwhelming for someone who had never played anything more complicated than Pac Man. 

He stopped when a cowboy popped up on his screen. Genji laughed at his expression. 

“Thought you’d like that one.”

Jesse shot his friend a glare, but couldn’t help but study the cowboy a little more. He was the most blatant cowboy stereotype Jesse had ever seen, complete with spurs, chaps, a red serape and an old fashioned revolver. He even wore a stetson much like Jesse’s own, though Jesse had never decorated his with bullets. 

_The Gunslinger_ , he was called. 

“Ready to play?” Genji was wearing the worst shit eating grin Jesse had seen in awhile. Jesse decided he would play anybody but The Gunslinger. 

He felt his resolve weaken the second they queued up a game. The hero select menu randomly landed on The Gunslinger, staring him down through the screen with a fat cigar rolling between his teeth. With a small huff Jesse clicked on the Soldier instead. Genji clicked his tongue in disappointment but said nothing. 

Jesse hated the Soldier. He was easy to play, but horribly boring, designed to charge the enemy like a bull and hope at least a couple of his teammates were around to draw some of the fire. 

Genji didn’t have that problem, hopping around the map like an energetic bunny and taking kills from flanking positions. They managed to win the game, though Jesse had no idea how. At the end a recording of Genji killing five enemies in a row played, making Genji whoop into the air. 

“I love getting play of the game!”

“If you say so.” Jesse muttered. Genji frowned at his discourage expression.

“Hey, I’ve got a couple hundred levels on you. You’re doing fine. Just have fun with it.” 

Jesse nodded absentmindedly. It only took a few seconds for the next match to start. He stared at the select screen, again resting on the Gunslinger. With a heavy sigh, Jesse clicked on him.

“There you go!” Genji bumped their shoulders together. “I knew it was just a matter of time.”

Jesse couldn’t stop the small smile playing across his lips. 

“Bet this time I can kick your ass.”

“Oh, that’s how it is.” Genji faced him with an expression of mock offense. Jesse laughed properly this time, straight from the gut. 

Jesse did better this time. Though there was a learning curve with the controls, his accuracy with the slower fire rate of the virtual revolver was at least double that of the automatic rifle the Soldier used. He found he could do more with the Gunslinger, stunning enemies and flanking with ease. Almost inevitably “Victory” flashed across the screen. Genji still got the play of the game, but jesse got the satisfaction of seeing bronze and silver medals glinting on his screen. Jesse took the chance to smile smugly at Genji’s blatant surprise.

“And that’s how the west was won.” He spoke in a deep imitation of the Gunslinger, exaggerating his own drawl for effect.

Genji burst out laughing. 

“Oh that was beautiful.” He managed to choke out. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, we have to level you up, we’re doing comp together.”

“Comp?”

Genji just shook his head, leaning into Jesse’s side again. He’d covered his mouth with a fist, stifling the sound, but still vibrating with laughter. 

Despite the movement, Jesse was again fighting the instinct to lean into his friend’s warmth. He swallowed hard.

“I think I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right after writing this I realized I used several of the same phrases as I did in the first drabble. I think I've got a theme in my head for their relationship...


	3. Domestic

Something tugged at McCree’s skull, pulling his consciousness with it, right out of a particularly nice dream. As the seconds passed he couldn’t quite recall what that dream was, but he was certain it was something he’d like to remember.

He flipped over and opened his eyes blearily, trying to find the source of his discomfort. He came face to face with a maskless Genji a few inches away. This wasn’t unusual. The way Genji’s eyes widened when McCree faced him and the way his hands hovered in the air, however, were.

“What were you doing?” McCree asked, a mix of cautiousness and grogginess. 

“Nothing.” Genji answered too quickly, dropping his raised hand to McCree’s hip and pulling him close. He smiled sweetly. “Just enjoying the view.”

“Uh huh.” McCree grunted. “I almost believe that.”

He hoisted himself out of bed, joints protesting as he stretched out the kinks. Ignoring Genji’s protests he ambled into their shared bathroom, aiming straight for the mirror over the sink. He looked at himself for a few seconds. Closed his eyes. Opened them.

“What did you do?” His hair had been braided. Not long enough to form a single proper braid, however, he instead had a dozen small ones scattered across his scalp, sticking out at odd angles.

Genji stepped through the doorway slowly, almost sheepishly. 

“Nothing! Well, not really. I was just playing with your hair while you slept, and it sort of...happened.” He slid up to McCree’s back and wrapped his arms around the gunslinger’s waist, resting his chin on McCree’s shoulder. The metal of his synthetic muscles was still warm from bed. Not the McCree would have turned the cyborg down even if he’d just stepped out of a freezer.

McCree watched Genji’s expression turn playful in the mirror.

“I think it looks cute.”

“Of course you do,” he grumbled without any real heat, “It’s your fault.”

Genji brightened the room with a laugh that McCree couldn’t help but answer with a smile of his own. 

“Is there any point in me goin’ back to bed?”

Genji had the decency to look guilty as he answered.

“Ah, not really, you would have gotten up in half an hour anyway.” He pressed a kiss into McCree’s neck. 

“I am truly sorry for waking you.” He muttered. McCree rested his hands on top of Genji’s, holding the other man in place.

“You know what,” he said, “Just for that, you’re helpin’ me make breakfast.”

Genji groaned, but didn’t argue. He gently unwound from their embrace so McCree could get ready. McCree frowned at the sudden chill at his back. Genji noticed and stepped back from the door, quickly landing a kiss on McCree’s cheek before finally leaving him alone in the bathroom.

It only took a couple of minutes for him to wash and dress. There was nothing to do today, no planned missions, so he left most of his usual outfit behind, keeping only the spurs on his boots and his infamous belt buckle. After a moment’s hesitation he left his hat sitting on the dresser. He could see Genji staring at his hair, but with his visor firmly back in place, his feelings were almost impossible to decipher. 

Genji hated cooking. He’d admitted as much the first time he watched McCree making dinner after the recall.

“I never learned to cook as a child,” He’d said, “And I eat so little now it feels more like a chore than anything.”

McCree was no chef, but he knew the basics, and years of traveling taught him how to make a decent variety of dishes. He tried teaching, but Genji was usually content to do what McCree told him, or just avoid it altogether if he could get away with it.

There would be no wiggling out of it this time. With a theatrical sigh Genji took the knife McCree handed him and started cutting the vegetables McCree pulled out. He made nice cuts at least. He had onced used his shuriken to help prepare a meal, which delighted some and disgusted others. McCree had shrugged and eaten anyway, assuring everyone else at the table the food was fine. Still, a few people politely declined.

Genji stuck to the kitchen knife this morning. McCree was going simple, just throwing a few eggs and vegetables together for something halfway decent to get him through the day. He debated making Genji help him with dinner too, just to make up for such basic preparation. 

“You should get an apron.”

“What?” McCree’s thoughts scattered at the non sequitur. 

“An apron.” Genji insisted. “Like the one Torbjorn has.”

“Kiss the mechanic?”

“Perhaps kiss the cowboy?” 

McCree snorted. “Don’t think I need an apron to get a kiss.” He waggled his eyebrows in what could have been interpreted as either suggestive or humorous manner. He hoped Genji picked the former.

Genji hummed. “You would look good in it, though. Even better wearing nothing but an apron.”

“Somethin’ to think about.” He teased, inching closer. By the way Genji tilted his head, he didn’t miss the movement. 

“Should I wait or is it safe to come in?”

McCree jumped at the familiar voice, blushing like a teenager. Genji’s shoulder’s shook in silent laughter, earning him a glare from McCree.

“No ma’am. I mean, you can come in.”

Ana Amari stepped from around the corner, white hair braided over a shoulder and empty teacup held delicately in one hand. She wore a knowing expression, the kind that made grown men feel like eight year olds, shuffling their feet next to a broken vase, eyes downcast to avoid the harsh gazes hovering over them.

It shifted into one of surprise almost immediately as her eyes fixed on his hair.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I've been reading other McGenji week fics, and some of these are really amazing. Some of y'all are out there waxing poetic, contemplating what it means to be human with 1000 word ficlets.  
> And I'm over here like "What if Genji and McCree fucked in the rec room."


	4. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 of McGenji week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I know this is all from Mercy's perspective, but it's McGenji, I swear

Three times he proved he was a good liar.

The first was small. They’d known each other only a couple of years and Angela had only recently begun to consider him a friend. Jesse had convinced her to play low stakes poker with a few other Overwatch members. Reinhardt, Torbjorn, and even Ana had showed up. Instead of money they bet chores, trinkets, and even embarrassing challenges. Angela kept it small, little things she could spare, and nothing that would insult her dignity. She was no poker player, but the game was casual enough it didn’t really matter. She even started to do well, collecting a small pile of odds and ends that she would either return or throw away when this was over. The things didn’t matter, only that she managed to hold onto them.

Jesse, to her surprise, began to break. Little but obvious signs, chewing a lip, playing with his hands, a strained smile. She didn’t understand when Ana folded, or why Rein and Torb quickly followed suit. He obviously had a bad hand, so with a smug smile, she forced him to call his bluff.

As she watched him gleefully rake his worthless winnings to his side of the table, she realized he was a much better liar than she had given him credit for. It shook the weak foundations of their trust, a potential disaster for such an unlikely friendship in the early stages. But under his bravado Angela saw the kindness in his heart and warmth in his soul, and she was quick to forgive.

The second time was years later. They were good friends, almost like family. He had a way of brightening any room he was in, shining like a human sun. He could make anybody smile with a few words, and win them to his side with a few sentences. They talked and joked and laughed together, and she was glad to know him.

One day he came into her office, lips pulled into a tight frown, hat yanked over his eyes, shine dulled to a dim glow. 

“Is everything alright, Jesse?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He leaned on the edge of her desk, a habit she hated but could never break. She prodded his side experimentally with a pen, but he didn’t budge.

“Are you sure? You seem...sad.”

“Do I?” He lifted the brim of his hat just a fraction, just enough to glance down at her. His eyes only reflected what she had already guessed.

“Why are you here Jesse?” She asked kindly. It was rare for him to look this way, even rarer to seek out company for it. She was his friend, and she would be here for him. He fidgeted where he stood, worried the edge of his brim with one hand while the other sat on his hip.

“You ever,” He began hesitantly, “You ever like someone?”

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. Like someone? She liked a lot of people, she-

Oh.

“You mean...romantically?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. Jesse was a notorious flirt, drawing people to him like moths to a flame, which of course sparked all manner of rumors. She knew most of them, at least, weren’t true. Even the few interludes she knew about or suspected were nothing more than one night stands. She could tell by the way he laughed and winked when she asked, suggesting maybe she wanted some alone time with him herself. She would huff and smack his shoulder and they would keep doing what they were doing, knowing neither one was serious.

He didn’t laugh this time. He could barely look at her. 

“Somethin’ like that.” He admitted gruffly. “Thing is...they don’t feel the same way. Honestly, even if they did, not sure it would work out. I just- how do you make this shit go away?” His voice rose with frustration, the end of his last sentence spoken through gritted teeth. Angela’s eyes had gone wide, shocked at the emotional display. 

“Go away? You can’t just make feelings like that go away, Jesse. You need to be honest and tell them. Who is it anyway?” She watched his face harden as she talked, not liking any of it one bit. At the end he shut down completely, a blank slate. She had never seen him looking like this. She didn’t like it.

“Nevermind,” He muttered, “I’ll deal with it. Thanks for listening.” He rushed out before she could say another word.

She tried bringing it up again later, but he never let her. In fact, he acted as if the conversation had never taken place. He was just her friend again, smiling, flirting, ever the charmer. He shone as brightly as ever.

It was unnerving how easily he moved on, as if his emotions truly were just something he could turn off with a switch. Angela started watching him, watching how he talked, who he talked to, the things he did.

She found he was very good at pretending. His accent was always changing, thickening and thinning based on who he was talking to. Slang and idioms got the same treatment, stored and brought out like good china, waiting for the right occasion to use them. Even his body language changed in an instant to accommodate the current conversation.

He could be anyone he wanted to be to anybody, and for the first time in years, Angela wondered what part he was playing around her. 

Jesse, the Blackwatch Agent. Jesse, the killer. Jesse, the charmer. Jesse, the southern gentlemen. Jesse, the liar. 

One thing was consistent, though. The way he stuck to Reyes, following him without a thought, looking to him for advice, for permission, for everything. It dawned on Angela this was the secret Jesse was hiding. He had feelings for his Commander.

Relief swept through her. Of course he would want to keep that secret. Of course he would never be able to pursue it. Even if Reyes wasn’t his Commanding officer, Reyes’ relationship with Morrison was the worst kept secret in Overwatch. No wonder he lied about it.

Jesse was an excellent liar, but he wasn’t lying to her. Not when he didn’t have to.

So she let it go. The hurt healed like it had never happened. The next time she brought it up, careful to avoid names, only asking to know if he was fine, he said he was, it was resolved. She believed him. 

The third time was two years before Overwatch would be disbanded, rocked to the core by a violent explosion and the death of Morrison and Reyes. The base wasn’t the haven it had once been, perpetually tense with the constant infighting. She saw Jesse one night, walking through the corridor alone, decked out in his favorite get up, Peacekeeper at his hip. He walked with his head tilted down, staring at the floor. He looked tired. She was too.

She stopped him with a smile, asked if he wanted to get some food together, or even just coffee. He shook his head, returning a tired smile of his own. He was in the middle of something, but he’d make it up to her, another time. She believed him. 

She wouldn’t see him again for five years.

She watched him walk up to the Gibraltar base after recall, a little older, a little more worn, but still radiating light. His smile stunned everyone else, his mannerisms charming them as they exchanged warm greetings, and in a couple of cases, firm hugs. 

Angela knew better. Jesse was a desert sun, and she had been burned before.

He must have sensed her hesitation. He approached slowly, with a tip of that same damn hat. She fixed him with an icy stare, watching silently as his smile faltered.

“You owe me dinner.”

He had the decency to look guilty. He took his hat off, held it over his chest, and apologized. She didn’t let it go this time, not again, but she wasn’t immune to his warmth. He broke into the icy exterior she tried to build with ease. She allowed it, just a little. 

Jesse was standing next to her when Genji arrived. She gave a small shriek and attacked the cyborg with a hug, babbling her relief at seeing him again. She pulled back quickly to give him a once over, demanding he schedule an appointment. He laughed and agreed and apologized for causing her worry. He was so calm and steady, a one eighty from the angry man she once knew. She watched him and Jesse exchange polite greetings and frowned a little, remembering the close friendship they’d once shared, but chose not to comment. It had been several years, after all. People change. Genji clearly had.

But, this was Jesse she was thinking of. It took no time at all for him to strike up his old friendship. Soon the two were almost inseparable, so much like the old days, but the way Genji was now, it was even better. He claimed he had healed, claimed he was a different man. She believed him. He had hurt her once, but he had never lied. At least he had said goodbye.

It all changed a couple of months into recall. Most of them were in the rec room, having drifted there after dinner. Several of the younger members were embroiled in a virtual battle on a TV screen. Winston was engaged in a tense chess match with Satya. Genji sat with with Reinhardt and Tracer, having a wonderful time if his smile was anything to go by.

She couldn’t stop staring. It was so strange, seeing Genji without his visor. At least, strange outside of a hospital room. He really must have changed if he was so comfortable baring what he once hated so much to the world. If made her more glad than she could say to see him like this, so she watched from the other side of the room, feigning interest in the chess match.

Jess had taken up residence in the far corner by himself. He was stationed next to the only window, leaving it open for the smoke from his cigar to drift through. Angela had allowed in begrudgingly after a small fan had been produced to keep the smell away from everyone else. In true Jesse fashion, he had smirked and rolled his eyes, but knew better than to argue. He seemed to be doing something on his datapad, though she had no idea what.

It was pure luck she looked up when she did. Pure luck she saw the star struck expression, eyes fixed on Genji, who was too busy laughing to notice. Pure luck that she watched pain flash across his face before he shut it down, smoothing his expression back over into something neutral. A few minutes later he got up, claiming he had a headache, and left.

It hit her like a gut punch. She had been wrong, so wrong. It hadn’t been Reyes. 

It had _never_ been Reyes. 

This time, she would not let it go.

She cornered him in his room. 

“You love him.” She said simply. He stared.

“What?”

“Genji, you love him, and don’t you argue, I saw you Jesse McCree, I _saw_ you looking at him.”

His eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. She waited for the rebuttal, the easy lie that would sound so convincing she would almost believe. She was ready this time. Jesse was a liar but he was her friend, and she was ready.

But he didn’t argue. He slumped in defeat, running a hand over his face. He cursed under his breath before dropping his hand to his side. He looked her in the eye, tired, worn down, old. 

“So? Not like it’s mutual. Never was, never will be. I’ll deal with it.”

Angela was frozen in place. This was not the Jesse she knew. Where was the charmer, the desert warmth, the noon sun? Who was this dying pile of embers, this defeatist? 

“No!” She exclaimed.

“No.” He repeated flatly. “The hell you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean no.” She repeated, becoming bold with her anger. “He deserves to know.”

He squared up his shoulders. “I ain’t ruining a good thing because of something like this. I’m a grown man, I can control myself.”

“This isn’t about control, you stupid man!”

McCree sputtered. “Stupid?”

“Yes!” Angela spat out. She was reaching her limit. Jesse, the liar. Jesse, the idiot. Jesse, the emotional trainwreck. Jesse, a man in love.

“You aren’t alone anymore! You cannot keep pushing these things down because you’re scared. If you truly care about him, you know it wouldn’t be right to keep this a secret. This is a new era, Jesse, no more lies.”

His expression darkened, eyes flashing. “Why the hell not? He didn’t even say bye, Ang. Years of friendship, of camaraderie, of fightin’ by each other’s side, and he just up and goes without a word. That’s not somebody who wants to hear about my feelings.”

A laugh bubbled from Angela’s lips, a little too high pitched and a little off kilter. 

“You mean like how you said goodbye to me?”

That deflated him.

“That wasn’t -” He started to murmur. 

“Wasn’t what? Wasn’t the same? We’ve know each other for almost half our lives, Jesse, and I didn’t deserve a goodbye?”

She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. She watched him do the same, his breathing too harsh for a man who had been standing still for the last several minutes. They stood in silence, a burning star against a tundra.

For the first time since she’d met him, Jesse broke first.

“It’ll just ruin what we’ve got.” He half whispered, as if worried someone would overhear. “That’s the last thing I want to do, Ang.”

“You have to try.” Her voice matched his in volume, no longer wearing an edge. She gently pressed a hand on his shoulder. “No more hiding, Jesse. For us and yourself.” 

He looked away. After a few moments of silence, she dropped her hand and, not knowing what else to say, walked out.

The fourth time Jesse lied, almost a month later, Angela didn’t mind.

She watched them walk into the mess hall together for the third time that week. She dropped her mug to the table with a heavy thunk, making them both turn to her in surprise. 

“Get a good night’s sleep?” She asked sweetly. Genji rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but McCree just laughed. He gave her his trademark wink, singeing the room with his brightness, but all she felt was a comfortable warmth.

“Of course I did, doc. Solid eight hours.” 

“Liar.”

The callout caught him by surprise, but Jesse just laughed it off, hand on his stomach as he threw his head back. Happy.

“Caught me red handed, Ang.”

The two men made their way into the kitchen, Jesse still chuckling, Genji shaking his head, though if Angela knew him at all, he was smiling under that visor. She picked her mug back up and took a sip of coffee, pleased with herself. She’d helped him, just a little, broken through his facade just a little. Jesse, the liar. Jesse, the infamous gunslinger. Jesse, the good man. 

Jesse, her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what this is or how it happened, but here you go.


	5. Family

“Marry me.”

He hadn't meant to say that. He’d meant to say something like “I'll keep their attention while you flank” or “we need to break the line and get to the others on the point.” Instead, smeared in blood and grime and sweat soaking through his clothes from the inside, he let _that_ slip unbidden through his teeth. He stared at the recipient in horror, made all the worse by the lack of expression in his metal visor.

Genji had frozen at McCree’s words, only moving to turn his head and face McCree properly. McCree stared back, his tongue turned to lead in his mouth.

They needed to move. Gunfire still rung out in the air, tearing at the edges of their cover. The wall was sturdy but not guarantee. In the distance he heard the earth shattering crack of Reinhardt’s hammer accompanied by the telltale _whoosh_ of Tracer’s chronal accelerator. 

He tried to say as much, to move forward. Now wasn't the time to deal with the weight in his gut and the tightness in his chest. He could smooth this over, but _later_. 

His mouth betrayed him again. 

“I love you.”

“McCree.” There was hesitancy in his lover’s voice, and McCree couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so panicked. His throat felt thick, but he couldn't stop now, and the words spilled out like vomit.

“I want you, Genji, and only you. I've loved you for years, since before I even knew what that meant. I love everything about you and I don't wanna get shot on some mission and lay dyin’ in an alley wonderin’ ‘what if.’ Marry Me.”

The silence was deafening. Genji still hadn't moved, and McCree couldn't even begin to guess what that meant.

_What the hell did I just do_.

How did he fix this? What could he possibly say? He still didn’t know what had prompted his outburst. There was nothing unusual about this mention. In fact, it was going a little too well, the only damage a few gashes from stray bullets along his side. Genji was barely scratched at all, though admittedly it was hard to tell under the blood. None of it was his own blood, though, so McCree figured the cyborg was doing pretty well.

Christ, he hadn't fucked up this badly in a long time.

A cough interrupted his thoughts. At first it didn't make sense. It wasn't from him, and it didn't sound like it came from Genji, so who -

The comm. 

The team could still hear him. Reinhardt and Mercy and Tracer and even Winston back on base directing the entire mission. Not to mention Hanzo.

Oh God, _Hanzo._

“We have captured the point.” Mercy’s voice floated into his ear, small and uncomfortable. McCree realized the silence wasn’t just in his own mind. All sounds around him had stopped except the gentle rustle of the breeze. No guns, no heavy boots on the ground. The team had almost finished the mission without them. 

“Ah. I uh, we, we hear ya. On our way.”

Nobody said a word. 

McCree finally broke his gaze from the man in front of him. He stood up carefully from where he'd been crouched and peered around their cover. It looked clear. He glanced back at Genji, who now stood, stiff as a ruler.

“ _Well?_ ”

McCree jumped. Tracer’s voice was the opposite of Mercy’s, loud and demanding. 

“Come on boys, don't keep us in suspense!” She whined through the comm. Mercy was quick to shush her, but the damage was done. He ran a hand down his face and yanked the brim of hit hat down.

“Jesse.”

McCree went rigged. Genji’s voice was soft. McCree forced himself to turn around. He wouldn’t be a coward about it at least.

Genji stepped forward, pushing McCree’s hat out of his face and sliding his hand down to cup his cheek, too quickly for him to react. Too close, too soft, too intimate. Better than he deserved.

“Yes.”

Everything dropped away, the world narrowing down to the green visor in front of him, glow pulsing like a slow heartbeat. He was distantly aware of someone yelling, a shrill sound in his ear that should have had him flinching. He barely even noticed.

“You serious?” He breathed. Genji cocked his head.

“Are you not?” He asked, voice laced with amusement. 

“What? No! I mean yes! Shit, I mean- oh hell you know what I mean.” McCree took a deep breath. At least he _could_ breath again, the tension in his throat and chest loosened, his head reeling.

“I know what you mean.” Genji agreed.

McCree was flying. He wanted nothing more than to kiss his lover ( _fiance!_ ), to throw him onto a bed and spend an entire day together, nothing to distract them. Somehow, this didn’t seem like the place and time, and he wasn’t about to ask Genji to remove his visor in the middle of a battle in broad daylight, so he settled for a peck to to a metal forehead.

“Later.” Genji whispered, quiet enough to not be picked up on the comm. It sent a thrill through McCree, a promise he would get his day.

“You got it.” He agreed, matching his partner’s volume.

“What’s happening? Are you two talking?” Tracer interrupted again. Maybe McCree wasn’t as quiet as he thought.

“Can we please finish the mission?”

“Sure thing, Mercy.” McCree responded, laughing at Angela’s exasperation. With some reluctance he put some space between him and Genji.

“I wonder,” Genji mused as they jogged to catch up to the others, sticking to McCree’s side instead of climbing walls and dashing ahead like usual, “if you will put this much thought into the ceremony?”

McCree groaned. “You’re never gonna let this go, are you.”

“Not for as long as we live.” Genji teased. McCree’s mouth curved into a smile.

He could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly even though I liked the idea for this, I don't like how it ended up. But I'm already late for day 5 so it's gonna have to do.


	6. Laughter

His joints didn’t ache.

Of course he’d never expected anything different. Metal could rust and machines could break, but they didn’t ache. They got replaced, switched out with newer models when something went wrong. Those made of flesh and blood did not have such luxuries.

Still, Genji felt his age. However much of him was machine, there was still flesh under the armor. His organs struggled to keep up, his mind betrayed him at the simplest of tasks. He was old. 

“You should not go alone.”

Hanzo didn’t look at Genji as he spoke, too busy watching the small crowd of people before them. It was a busy event, full of drinking and eating and talking. Children raced between legs, knocking into adults without care, their screaming laughter echoing through the garden. Hanzo’s face was serene, the corner of a lip quirked up in a half smile. A patriarch admiring his work.

“You worry too much. I’m in better shape for traveling than you are.”

It was risky poking fun at the restrictions of Hanzo’s age, but Genji what kind of little brother would Genji be if he didn’t poke all of his brother’s buttons?

Hanzo hadn’t taken aging well. At every step, every new joint pain or muscle ache, he fought it. He refused to yield to his body’s own weaknesses until he had no choice, usually after an injury. Genji had been honestly shocked Hanzo had never tried dying his hair, even when the silver completely consumed it. At the very least he’d finally agreed to stop climbing, though he still practiced archery and sparred with Genji on a regular basis. Hanzo pretended Genji wasn’t going easy on him and Genji let him keep that illusion. It was an arrangement that had worked so far.

“That does not make you invulnerable.” His brother growled. His expression smoothed for a moment under the gaze of a smiling grandchild, but quickly returned as they disappeared into the crowd. Hanzo turned on the bench they were sharing to face Genji. “You are not young either.”

“We’re not spring chickens anymore.” Genji agreed in english. Hanzo closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. 

“We are in the Shimada castle which has served as the ancient home of our family for hundreds of years. Our home. Can you at least keep those ridiculous phrases off the property? Do you have no shame?”

“Nope.” He answered both questions in English. 

Hanzo burst out laughing, deep and sincere. Once upon a time he would have scowled and lectured, fretting about the honor of a family that held little love for him. When they first reunited Genji had wondered if Hanzo even remembered how to laugh. He was glad to have been proven wrong.

“I will be fine.” He reverted to Japanese to assure his brother. “But I wish to go alone, and I promised. How about I call you when I get there? I’ll even call when I’m leaving and spare your poor heart the worry.”

Hanzo just shook his head, smiling fondly. “That will have to do, I suppose.”

Hanzo’s head snapped up, followed almost instantly by his arm. With a soft thud a softball smacked into his hand. One of the kids ran over, babbling a half hearted apology through their laughter. Hanzo tossed it back while smirking at Genji.

“Not so old, eh?”

***

Genji debated what food to bring for far too long, agonizing over traditional dishes versus guilty pleasures. Eventually he decided to go simple, settling on an old favorite.

With a box of food resting in the passenger seat of his rented hover car he pulled up to the church. The sand colored stone baked under the desert sun, the stained glass window over the front door absorbing and filtering the bright light. 

He half expected the door to creak as he pushed it open, but it swung in silence. Despite its age the place was well taken care.

“Hello?” A voice echoed in the small space, warbling with the age of its owner. The priest stepped through a side door near the pulpit. 

“Father Donovan.” 

“Mr. Shimada! You’re earlier then you said you’d be.”

“My apologies, I don’t mean to inconvenience you.” Genji gave a small bow. Father Donovan just laughed.

“This is a church Mr. Shimada, you don’t need an appointment to visit. In a sanctuary like this the doors are always open.” He paused and tilted his head. “Well, except between eleven and five. I need some sleep.” He nodded towards the box in Genji’s hand.

“Is that an offering?”

Genji nodded. “Yes, his favorite. Would you like one?” He flipped the lid back, exposing the small pile of moonpies inside.

“Moonpies!” Father Donovan said, clearly delighted. “You know, you should come back on _Dia De Los Muertos,_ there are a lot of Mexican families around here who celebrate. This is exactly the sort of thing they bring.” He chuckled and closed the lid. “Though theirs tend to be more decorated.”

“I’ve been a part of that celebration a few times before, though always as an outsider. The first time I went I was surprised by how lively it was.”

“Most people are.” He shook his head. “But I’ll stop taking up your time, you’re here for a reason. Don’t be afraid to call if you need something.” He patted Genji on the shoulder. Genji gave another small bow before making his exit through the back door. 

It opened onto a small dirt path that led directly into the graveyard, winding between gravestones. There was no real sense to the layout, a testament to its age. The path began in the back corner, home of the oldest graves, headstones too worn and broken to read much more than a name, and sometimes not even that.

Genji stayed on the outside path, following it around the edges of the graveyard to his destination. 

The gravestone he stopped at was no larger than any of the others, though the pattern of the marble it had been carved out of stood out. 

“I still can't believe I let them do that.” Genji muttered. He sat down in front of it, legs crossed. 

“Though I did talk them down from the monument. They already have one in the museum. I thought you'd like some peace and quiet here.”

He sighed. “But I've said this before. I'm getting-what’s the word? Senile.” 

He opened his box of snacks and dug into the bottom and pulled out thin sticks of traditional incense and a small bowl to hold them. 

“Hanzo would have a heart attack if he saw this.” He chuckled and lit them, carefully setting them in front of the gravestone. “I doubt you care though. Besides, I've brought a gift.”

He spun the open box so it faced the gravestone. For a moment there was no sound but the crinkling of the plastic wrap as he opened one. He reached up, and with a series of clicks, undid his visor, placing it in his lap. 

“I miss you.” He murmured, resting a hand on the name. The sensors in his hand needed a tune up, but he could still feel the cool stone as he traced each letter. _Jesse McCree_.

His face broke into a smile.

“Hana made the worst joke the other day, you need to hear this…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People laugh...technically


	7. Supernatural/Halloween

“Draw.”

Monsters fell, hitting the wet cobblestone in heaps of twisted metal, electricity flitting over their remains like a last spark of life. If creatures like this could even be considered alive.

The last one fell, an ugly green monstrosity full of scrap metal and whatever hellfire kept it on its feet. It landed with a thud in a puddle of the vile black goo it would have called blood if it could talk. Arrows and bullet holes had ripped it apart, but it showed no pain, no indication it understood anything other than bloodlust and violent fury.

The soldier and the alchemist were gone the moment they were paid, two ghosts in the night. They left the hunter simmering with discontent that had no obvious cause. He fought the urge to follow, and pulling the brim of his dark hat over his eyes, started in the opposite direction towards the sleepy village below. 

He stopped halfway to the castle’s main gate.

“You need somthin’?” He turned to face the archer. The man stood straight, head held high, bow held loosely in both hands - not quite a fighting stance, close enough to become one if necessary. He was a void in the night, an empty space where heat and sound and movement should be.

The hunter gave away nothing. He pulled out a cigar from inside his jacket, every move unhurried, deliberate. He could wait. Haughty men who stood with the aura of a King in the presence of a peasant rarely could. 

The hunter closed his eyes as he lit the cigar. He knew the light would draw the archer’s eye, too bright in the night, too easy to focus on in the gloom, blurring out everything around him.

Finally, the archer broke. “What you did was not possible.”

The hunter rolled the smoke in his mouth, taking in the sharp taste before slowly blowing it out. He risked cracking his eyes open again now that the bright light of his lighter was gone and saw the scowl of the archer. “Not sure what you’re talkin’ about there archer.”

“You’re revolver only holds six bullets. You destroyed over a dozen of those creatures in an instant. How?”

The hunter took the time to shift the crossbow on his back into a more comfortable position. He watched the archer from under his brim as he did so, seeing the frustration build. He smiled, sharp and cruel and confident. He let the heat come, fire and lightning crackling in his core. The air changed, snapping with the pressure, the smell of ozone heavy in his nose. 

He held the worst of it back, keeping the fire in his gut, not letting it encompass him. He gave it a single outlet, a red glow that shone from his right eye with the light of hell itself. 

“You really wanna know?”

The archer’s eyes went wide. His stance shifted, a little more fluid, a little more tense. “You are a demon.” He spat.

The hunter chuckled, smothering the fire back down until it began fading on its own. It left a sting in his eye, a mark of its power, but he ignored it, knowing it would pass soon.

“That’s rich, comin’ from you.” He laughed outright at the archer’s insulted expression. 

“You think I show that little trick to everyone? I know an oni when I see one. Monster hunter, remember?” 

For a moment the archer’s eyes flashed an empty white, skin going grey, teeth growing to knife points as twisted horns appeared on his head. Blue scales ran down his neck, disappearing under his clothes. Then it was gone, human facade back in an instant as if he had never been anything else. The archer sneered, a show of bravado from the nervous dragon. “You hunt your own kind?”

“ _My kind_? Bein’ a demon don’t make you kin by default. Besides, I only get it from my dad’s side.”

The archer’s expression turned to one of outright disgust. He said something in Japanese, tone harsh. The hunter took the chance to blow more smoke languidly. 

“I don’t need to know much nihongo to know what that meant.” He realized his mistake the moment he spoke. Tone too low, words too threatening. A nervous dragon only made a more difficult enemy. The hunter raised his hands in surrender, leaving his revolver untouched in its holster and his crossbow settled on his back. 

“Look, I’m not here for a fight. Well, not one with you. Lets part ways in peace, archer. Unless you wanted to get that drink.” He risked a wink. The archer reeled.

“I want nothing from you.” He spoke again in Japanese, spitting a single word like a curse before turning on his heel and fleeing. It was only seconds before he was gone. The hunter breathed a sigh of relief, cigar hanging loosely between gloved fingers. He set it between his lips and again began his journey to the village.

Again he stopped, just outside the ruined gates, little more than chunks of burned wood after the attack. 

“You’re late.”

He smiled at the sour tone of the familiar voice. He faced the source of the sound, flicking the brim of his hat up to give him a better view.

“Well hello to you too darlin’.”

The other man stepped out of the shadows and into the hunter’s space in a single quick motion, leaning in until he was only inches away. He tilted his head curiously, as if he didn’t hear the hitch in the hunter’s breath or see the way his eyes widened and traveled down.

“I hope you enjoyed the time you spent with my brother.”

The hunter took a steadying breath. “He’s a prickly one, that’s for sure. Much rather give my time to you.”

The other man gripped the front of the hunter’s clothes, close enough that the hunter felt more than saw his smile. The man’s eyes faded into an empty white, visage melting away bit by bit, exposing a map of scars deforming his features.

“You have no idea.”

***

McCree woke in a tangle of blankets and limbs, a situation so confusing he was surprised to finally realize they all belonged to him. He blindly grasped at the spot next to him, frowning at the lack of warmth. It was enough to push him out of bed.

He was still groggy when he found his way into the mess hall. He was the last one to enter, though the few others yawning and staring with empty eyes into coffee cups made him feel less awkward. 

Several plates of food sat on the counter, an odd assortment reflecting the varied taste of the base’s occupants. He piled the most familiar ones onto a plate and dropped heavily into the nearest seat. Angela sat across from him, far too awake at such an ungodly hour.

“Are you alright Jesse? You don’t look like you slept well.”

“Had a weird dream.” McCree scratched his beard. Trying to hold onto those memories felt like grasping smoke. “Somethin’ about monsters I think. There was a witch too.”

“A witch?” Angela giggled. “How silly!”

“Does that make you a werewolf?”

McCree jumped and spun in his seat. Genji stood behind him, bent over to get his voice closer to McCree’s ear. His wore his visor but McCree scowled all the same, sure of the smile underneath it.

“I was a monster hunter actually. Had a crossbow and everything.”

Genji just hummed in response, joining them at the table, even if he declined food. Even now he rarely ate in company, instead just enjoying the company. All in all, a relaxing morning, however strangely it started.

Despite coming in late McCree was one of the first to leave. He hadn’t taken meals slow for the last five years, and wasn’t breaking that habit anytime soon. He went through the usual motions cleaning up after himself, and after giving his goodbyes left the mess hall and made his way towards a training range.

Well, he tried to at least. Not even a few yards out the door he found himself pushed into a corner, a tiny blind spot for the cameras, with enough force to make him grunt.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile at the maskless cyborg in front of him. He opened his mouth to flick out a witty remark but was immediately silenced with Genji’s.

_Well, he’s in one of those moods today._

McCree was fine with that. He wrapped his arms around Genji while they kissed. It wasn’t long before McCree was struggling to control his breath. His head spun from the intensity of the moment, acutely aware of their teammates a room away.

“Monster hunter, hmm?” Genji had drifted to McCree’s neck. The gunslinger shuddered at the contact. “Ridiculous.” 

“Yeah?” 

Genji gripped McCree’s shoulders, pinning him more completely to the wall. His fingers felt sharper than usual, almost a painful sharpness in his flesh. 

“Yeah.” Genji muttered into his neck. He pulled back for a moment, just far enough for McCree to see the blinding whiteness of empty eyes.

“You know better than to use a crossbow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically two days late but I'm counting it anyway. I finished the week, dammit!


End file.
